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An acoustic, predatory shockwave exploded from the spear.

The gem drank the fluid instantly, absorbing the crimson stain into its crystalline core like a starving beast. The slumbering veins running along the shaft flared to life, burning with a violent, blinding scarlet light that illuminated the sand beneath our feet. The ancient weapon began to throb in Mal’s grip—a visceral, horrifying vibration of pure bloodlust.

The tracking pact was sealed. The First Era executioner had found its mark.

Mal stepped back, winding his body into a fluid, sweeping arc. He spun the spear over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto my chest with absolute, unholy triumph.

“May the void welcome you home,” Mal rasped.

He hurled the spear.

I did not flinch. I did not attempt to roll away into the sand. I simply closed my eyes, letting my hands fall limply into my lap, welcoming the darkness that would finally end the nightmare.

I began to count the seconds in the dark behind my eyelids.

One.

I heard the terrible whistle of the spear slicing through the dead air.

Two.

A sudden, violent explosion of absolute agony tore through my body.

It was not the quick, painless strike through the heart I had braced for. The impact hit me low—a blinding, white-hot tear of iron puncturing deep into my lower abdomen, dragging a sharp, strangled scream from my throat. The momentum of the blow slammed me backward against the wards, pinning me.

My eyes flashed open, swimming in tears of pain and shock. “Aagh—!”

Through the red haze of my vision, I expected to see Mal standing over me with his broadsword drawn.

Instead, standing directly in front of me, inches from my face, was a broad-shouldered warrior in black armor. He was facing me, his chest pressed tight against mine, his large hands resting on my shoulders. The shaft of Vaelthrys was driven straight through his back, burying itself deep into his sternum—and the protruding tip of the spear had passed through his flesh to impale my lower stomach.

He had thrown himself between me and the spear.

“Cas... Caspian...?” I gasped, my voice choking on the copper taste of my own blood as I stared up into his royal blue eyes.

The warrior did not speak. A quiet, sad, and deeply gentle smile touched his lips—a smile that held zero of Caspian’s arrogant, dangerous heat.

Slowly, effortlessly, the illusion began to break.

The royal blue hue of his eyes dissolved, washing away like dye in water, revealing warm, dark, deeply familiar eyes beneath. The dark chestnut hair veined with midnight shifted, turning back into the simple, cropped dark hair of a royal guard. The heavy vanguard armor flickered, transforming into the plain leather tunic of the citadel’s eastern watch.

The glamour shattered completely.

It was not Caspian standing before me.

It was Soren.

“Soren... no...” I choked out, a primal, terrified sob tearing from my throat as my blood-slicked hands reached up to clutch at his leather tunic. “No, no, no... Soren, what did you do?!”

Soren’s breathing was shallow, a thin trickle of dark arterial blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, staining his jaw. But his dark eyes held no regret. They held no fear. They burned with a unselfish devotion that shattered every piece of my heart into dust.

He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath hot, ragged, and trembling against my cheek.

“I told you... in the medical wing...” Soren whispered, his voice a raspy, dying thread that vibrated directly against my skin. “I will never... let you stand alone, Tauriel. I will guard your back...”

He choked on a breath, his fingers tightening one last time around my shoulders, giving me every remaining drop of his strength.

“...until my chest... stops... beating.”